Dream City
by lovemesomecrazy
Summary: Dreams don't all come true. Grass isn't always greener on the other side. There is not always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Life just sometimes fucking sucks. Future!Fic AU (Blaine and Kurt have never met)
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to another part of my crazy. This fic came to me when I was just having a bad day. It's no secret that one of the biggest things that drives me nuts about fiction is that everything is always so happy and cheerful, everything works out and everyone's dreams come true. That is not real life. So I give this this fic-o-angst.  
TW: Alcoholism, Depression.  
Just so we are all on the same page this is still a piece of fiction. What may or may not happen to a character during the course of their alcoholism and recovery is purely that. I have done a good amount of research on this and I hope to do the topic justice. **

**Enjoy**

* * *

Dreams did not always come true. Grass was not always greener on the other side. There was not always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Life sometimes, downright _sucked_.

Had you asked Kurt Hummel what his life would have been like at twenty-six seven years ago, he would not have told you that he would have been sitting on the fire escape of his Brooklyn apartment smoking a cigarette, nursing a bottle of whiskey. Once upon a time, Kurt Hummel had big city dreams. His name was supposed to be in lights. He was supposed to be married by thirty. Well, the latter was still a possibility but it was very unlikely. Especially since a month ago he was standing on that very escape throwing all of his ex's belongings over it, screaming profanities as Rachel covered Zachary's ears.

Once upon a time, Kurt and Rachel were going to have it all. They had made it out of Lima after all. The duo were supposed to be taking New York by storm, not sharing a tiny one bedroom apartment working dead end jobs. Rachel was most definitely not supposed to get pregnant at eighteen with her douche bag ex's baby and Kurt was not supposed to get denied at every audition he went to because he didn't "_fit_" the role.

Yet, there they were; Kurt was a bartender at a seedy gay bar on the out skirts of the city and Rachel a secretary at the local community college. It was times like this -times when Kurt realized his own failures_-_ he wanted to punch whomever gave him hope for the future in the face.

This was his future. Monday night, drinking himself into oblivion as he listened to angry music on his phone was what he had become.

* * *

Across the bridge there was a younger man who wasn't fairing much better than Kurt was. This younger man was an orphan trying to make his dreams of stardom come true. He played at free venues for tips, in the subways, and parks. He lived in Chelsea with other musicians. The lot of them were starving artists. They had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

In the tiny studio apartment, that often didn't have heat or hot water, four strangers lived in quarters too small, too confined. The curly haired man was miserable. Since his parents' death four years ago in a car accident, the young man could not be anything but miserable. That cold, rainy night that he got the phone call was the night that changed his life forever. It was the night the misery set in.

In addition to the obvious pain of losing his parents, the young man was forced to drop out of his studies at NYU because there was no one left to pay his tuition. His grandparents had disowned him because of his sexuality and he had drifted apart from his high school friends years ago. He had received a payment from their life insurance policy; one that he left in the bank as a backup, only dipping into it when he couldn't make rent that month. It may not have seemed like much and his portion of the rent may have only been $500 but working for tips never guaranteed steady income.

On that side of the bridge there sat a man. The man was broken, mind and spirit. The man sat on his stoop with a bottle of Jack clutched in his hands as if it was a mighty sword that he could use to fight the demons that lived inside him. He was fighting a losing battle with himself, trying to convince himself that everything was going to work out, all the while knowing that it wouldn't. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for his pack of Marlboros. He pulled out the pack and groaned when he looked in to find it empty. "Fuck!" He yelled to no one in particular. He only had eleven dollars in his bank account at the time, which meant that there was no money for cigarettes, until it was time to hustle again.

Across the bridge was a broken man who was about to give up.

* * *

Kurt heard the window open next to him as he flicked the butt of his cigarette down to the ground below, but he didn't register Rachel's presence until she was leaning her head on his shoulder. His phone long since dead, ear buds still in his ear, too drunk to know the difference.

"I want to go home." Kurt stated flatly, so accustomed to this state of intoxication that is words didn't even slur anymore. Rachel wrapped her left arm with his right and pulled tight. "I don't th-think I can do this anymore. I give up."

"Oh, Kurt. All you have to do is say the word. I have been miserable here for years. I think it's kind of obvious that we got the shit end of the stick here." Kurt scoffed and took another swig before offering the bottle to Rachel. "Kurt, I have Zach. We can't both be plastered with a child in the house."

Kurt took a breath that shook him to his very soul. "Rach? Can we go home?" He lit yet another cigarette, honestly, it was one of the worst parts of drinking. Whenever he drank, he smoked like a chimney, one after another. Not to mention the cost. That pack cost him almost fifteen dollars and he was going through one a day,

Rachel smiled fondly despite herself."I know your Dad will be happy to see you."

"I haven't t-talked to him in _months_ Rachel. Why would he want to talk t-to me?"

"Because he's your father and he loves you. You know I talked to him last week." Kurt looked over at her with squinted eyes. _Dammit Rachel stop fucking moving so much_. "He told me that he's worried about you. He keeps begging us to come home. He wants you home Kurt."

"You're lying." Kurt insisted between drags of his cigarette.

Rachel just shook her head and stood up. "And you're drunk. Come on, throw out the cigarette, let's put away the whiskey, and go to bed. We can make plans in the morning." Kurt said nothing but offered her a nod before attempting to crawl back to the window. He made it as far as the floor underneath the window inside. There was no way, with how fast the room was spinning, that he was going to make it to his bed (the couch). He just closed his eyes as Rachel stepped over him, pulling the bottle out of his hands. Just as he drifted into unconsciousness he felt Rachel cover him with his blanket and kissing his head. Rachel was a good friend. Rachel was probably the only reason he was alive. He faded into oblivion with a sad smile on his face.

* * *

Across the bridge the musician was sitting in his corner of the living room on his second hand twin mattress. He let his head hit the wall, realization taking him over. He could not do this anymore. He had to get the hell out of there. The city was swallowing him whole.

"Hey yo what up B?" One of his roommates, Mike, greeted.

"I'm leaving."

"Uh okay man, can you pick me up a pack of Newports when you're out?"

"No, I'm leaving. I'm going back to Ohio."

"Dude, you want to make music. How can you make music in Ohio?" Mike asked, completely perplexed. The idea of making music anywhere other than New York or California was foreign and mind boggling for him.

"Well I do have a guitar, I can write songs in Ohio. There is no magical boundary that causes you to lose all capabilities when you cross the border."

"Dude. What if it did?" Mike replied.

Blaine rolled his eyes at his soon-to-be ex-roommate. "You need to stop smoking so much weed."

"No such thing." Mike responded triumphantly. "When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. I can't be here anymore. I just can't do it."

"Word. See ya man." And with that Blaine was alone again and he began to pack. All things considered it was pretty easy seeing as he was living out of his bags for the last four years. When you have this many people in this small of an apartment there was no room for mundane things such as furniture.

It took an hour to make sure he had everything he wanted; which included, a duffel bag with his clothing, his guitar, his phone, and wallet. As he walked out of the door, without so much as a goodbye to the other roommates, he left his key on the counter. It was time he cut all connections with the place he tried to call home for the past few years.

* * *

Kurt's morning was rough. He had the hangover from Hell and he had three hours to pack and get out of the apartment. Kurt lost his spark, his pizazz over the past few years. His wardrobe shrank from the height of fashion, to college boy chic. Kurt lost his ability to even care. He threw his clothes in the large duffel bag he got at an army surplus store along with his personal care products. The Kurt of seven years ago would have cringed at the amount he had. All he owned now for his face was a bar of Dove soap and a moisturizer. His fire had long since burned out.

Rachel packed her and Zachary's clothes, his favorite toys and books into two large bags. She made sure to grab all of their pictures and tucked them into Zachary's backpack. When Kurt was in the bathroom, she made sure to take out the whiskey and hide it in the cabinet. If they were going to start over, they needed to _really_ start over. There were a lot of things that could be said about Rachel Berry; one of them being she honestly didn't know what she was doing half the time, but no one could ever tell her she didn't have Kurt's best interest at heart.

It may have seemed like they didn't pack much, but in all actuality, they had packed the majority of their belongings. They were broke. They didn't have much. All of the nice things they bought when they first moved to Bushwick all those years ago had been sold over the years. There were bills to pay and a baby to raise. They left behind a bed – Zachary shared a bed with Rachel –, a couch, small TV, a toy box with several broken toys, and food. They had the bare necessities. Even though they didn't have much, they had too much to carry, so they were sure to call ahead for a cab.

Kurt came out of the bathroom and they silently said goodbye to the apartment. They left an envelope with a note and keys. They had a month-to-month lease, so they didn't have to worry about breaking it. They left a forwarding address to send a deposit check if they ended up getting anything out of it.

With a nod Kurt picked up as many of the bags as he could and headed out the door followed closely behind by Zachary. Rachel pulled close the door and they walked away from their life, finally admitting defeat.

* * *

The subway ride to Penn Station was long and hot. It may be almost September, but in NYC, there was only about six weeks out of the year where the subway system was actually a comfortable temperature; this was not one of them. The train was packed, he had a ton of crap and was tired of being knocked around. This is one thing he is most definitely not going to miss.

Blaine found an open charger in the waiting area for the bus terminal and decided to charge his phone. If he was going to be on this bus for almost twenty four hours he needed some sort of entertainment. The last thing he wanted was to be lost in his thoughts, left alone to process his life. That would not end well.

Out of the corner of his eye Blaine caught what appeared to be a little family not too far from him.

"I can't wait to be out of the fu-freaking city. – Sorry! I'm trying not to swear around him okay! – Who would have thought we would be running back to Ohio?"

"I know Kurt, but life happens, and it didn't happen to be so generous to us. But, I will say that I am not sorry about it. I have Zach now and even if it's just me, him and you for the rest of our lives, I'm okay with that."

"You need a man." He said with a small laugh.

"Yea, well – so do you."

Blaine stopped listening into the conversation. It was odd, but he felt slightly better that there were other people moving back to his hell-hole state because, for whatever reason, they were giving up on New York too.

He watched them; the tiny, subdued brunette, the beautiful, svelte man with the chestnut hair, and the petite little boy – must be Zach – with the same color hair as his mother, bright eyes and smile. If there was one thing he enjoyed doing it was people watching. He could sit for hours and just try to figure out people's stories and their situations. He watched this odd group. He had heard the girl say that the man needs a man, so he must be gay (had he been in a better mind state he would have been excited about that prospect.) She looked like she was still twelve so she must have had the boy young. The man was not the boy's father – so hmmm, what happened to the father? Was he a dead beat? Did he pass away? Was he married? The list could have gone on and on. The one thing that he decidedly focused on was the man. The man was probably the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on, but his eyes were empty. The man was lost in his own mind and he could relate.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He stepped away from the main waiting area. Leaving his bag onto of his phone while it charged. He would only be gone a minute, it was fine. Kurt leaned against the 'No Smoking' sign as he lit up. _Rebel against authority and all that bullshit._ He was pleasantly surprised when the svelte man came out to join him.

"Hey, can I get a light?" He asked.

"Sure, here ya go." Blaine replied handing him the rainbow Bic.

Kurt lit his cigarette and passed the lighter back to him with a nod of the head for a thank you. "So, you heading to Ohio too?" He asked, making small talk.

"Yea, it's time for me to get the fuck out of here."

Kurt laughed with a heavy heart. "I know that's right. I'm going home."

"I don't have a home to go to."

There was no 'I'm sorry' and no pity from the other man. "That's unfortunate."

"Eh, it is what it is. Time to say goodbye."

"I'm with ya' there. I'm Kurt."

"Blaine."

"Nice to meet you." Kurt spoke as he held his hand to shake.

"You too." By this point their cigarettes were burned to the butt. Time to go back in.

"See ya around Blaine."

Blaine nodded and flicked away the butt. Time to say goodbye to this place. Who would have thought he would be running away again? The only difference this time was that he didn't care bus pulling into the station was bitter sweet for Kurt and Rachel. They were officially laying to rest all of their dreams and aspirations for the future. They typed the final punctuation on this chapter of their lives. Kurt looked over at Rachel to see a tear fall down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away.

"I'm sorry Rach." Kurt whispered as they lined up to put their bags in the storage area.

"Why are you apologizing?" She was so quiet, so meek, and so timid. She was a shell of her former self and Kurt couldn't help but to blame himself. He had been blaming himself for years.

"Because this is all my fault."

She breathed out an angry laugh. "Your fault? Are you serious? This is not your fault. We all know why, at least I, am how I am right now. I can't take fault for your situation and you can't take fault in mine. We made our beds and now it's time to lie in them."

"Yea." Was all that Kurt replied.

Zachary looked up at the two of them as the driver took their bags. "Guys? Can I give the man my suitcase?" He asked with a smile.

"Of course buddy, do you need help lifting it?" Kurt asked ruffling the boy's hair.

"No! I'm big now. I'm going to second grade!"

Kurt threw up his arms in defense and smiled genuinely at him. There was one thing that made him happy these days. It came in the form of a happy six year old little boy. His innocence intact, still had the dreams that Kurt himself once had. His smile went ear to ear as the little boy excited handed the driver his suitcase. The driver laughed at Zach's excitement and made sure to point out what a strong boy he was. The look of pride and joy on his face was enough to warm his heart even if for a short time.

* * *

_Fucking finally! _Blaine thought as they got to their first rest stop about three hours into their trip. He was desperate for a cigarette and to stretch his legs. He was stuck sitting next to a man who smelled like must and curry. Seriously, how is this his life? He shuffled off of the bus and quickly went off to the side of the building to smoke a cigarette and enjoy fresh air. After living in New York City for years, it's a nice change of scenery.

His cigarette was over far too quickly for his liking and ran inside to grab something to eat and drink. By the time he was done he still had ten minutes to kill before they had to get back on the bus and he didn't not want to spend one more minute than he had to next to that man. So he sat on the bench down from the solemn girl traveling with Kurt. She was sans child, so he must have been with him.

He didn't mean to be nosey, but he couldn't help listening in to her telephone conversation. It's not like there was anything better to do.

"Yeah, I know. Please don't tell him I told you. He will come to you when he's ready."

_Hmmm, a gorgeous piece of ass like that of course has a man. _Why was he even thinking like that? It's not like he was ever going to go anywhere with that anyway.

"I know he misses you... Yea, it's been a long time since he's called but he doesn't want you to be disappointed in him. He's not in a good place… He- he has a lot of demons Burt and he isn't the same boy you put on that plane seven years ago. We're both just a shell of what we used to be." She paused to listen to the man on the other end of the phone, silent tears running down her face. His heart ached for the girl.

"I promise Burt, he'll be ready soon. Just- just don't expect him to be the boy you knew. He's sick Burt and it scares the hell out of me. Just do me a favor and don't judge him. He's coping the best way he knows how to… Okay. But listen, I have to go. I'll talk to you soon. I love you."

_Okay maybe not a boyfriend._ Blaine watched in silence as she wiped her tears and put a small smile on her face as her son ran back up to her, arms wide, a cheerful 'mommy!' escaping his lips. He grimaced slightly as he thought about his past self, how he pictured himself in a much different place in his life by this point. He used to want that, a little one – boy or girl, it didn't matter – running to him with a cheerful 'DADDY!' or 'PAPA!' he wasn't picky.

Now… Now he just wanted to survive the night; most nights anyway.

* * *

The next morning, on September 1, 2013, the two men were no longer strangers from across the bridge. They were now lost souls on their way to rediscovery in Ohio. Neither had any idea where the other would end up, or if they would even remember each other in the time coming. All either of the men knew was that this was their last chance. It was now or never, their last round in the ring. If they failed again, whatever chance at a future they might have had left would be lost.

As the strangers whom have always been so close but yet so far away stepped on the bus, both with different destinations, different paths they simultaneously sigh. They were stepping onto soil they never thought they would have to again. Their worlds have gone full circle and they are each dealing with it in their own ways.

Blaine picked up his bags and looked over to the friends that he had been taken by just twenty four hours prior. His eyes lingered as the man fiddled with his fingers and the boy looked up at the woman with eyes bright and smile wide. He couldn't help but smile at the little boy who was so optimistic about his life's upcoming journeys. He missed more than anything he could be that little boy again. With one last breath he turned his back and walked his way over to the bus transfer. "Good luck." He muttered under his breath about the man whom, at one point of time, couldn't have easily took it away.

* * *

Kurt was not in a good place when they got off the bus in Columbus. He needed a drink and he needed it badly. His anxiety was a devastating mix of extreme highs and extreme lows. He was not ready to do this, he was not ready. He wanted more than anything to go home. Logically, he knew that he needed his father. Emotionally, he was terrified to see him. He just knew that he didn't love him anymore. How could he love someone who was as much of a failure as he was?

Kurt knew that he had no home to go to.

* * *

**Thank you for checking out my new fic. I have about another chapter and a half completed on this. Seriously Brit made this make sense, please feel free to point out any parts that may not flow well together or make sense. We are both human and we are both very tired. Thank you! Also the title is from the song 'Dream City' by Free Energy**


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you ready Kurt?" Hiram asked softly. Kurt hadn't said word the entire two hours since they were picked up at the depot. Rachel was happier than he had seen her in years. She was excited to be back with her fathers again**.** Whereas, Kurt was more terrified than he has been in years. The idea of seeing his father was absolutely petrifying.

"As I'll ever be I guess." He replied as he looked out the window at the passing trees.

"Does your dad know that you're coming?"

"N-no. I didn't want him to say no." Kurt spoke the last words just loud enough for himself to hear, just loud enough to own his fear.

Hiram nodded and decided to leave the boy – no _man_ – alone. Unlike Kurt and Burt, he and Rachel had kept close contact. He knew that they both had a long road ahead of them, recovery for one, and rediscovery for both. He just hoped he'd be able to help.

In what seemed like no time at all the Audi was pulling up in front of a modest house on Sycamore Street in Lima, Ohio. The house looked the same, dark blue paint, white door. It still had a wrap-around porch with a swing on the side. There was still the old tree in the yard, still the garden on the side. It was like they were stepping into the past, everything exactly how it was; only nothing was as it was. The house may have still been the same but the home was far from it.

"It doesn't look like your dad is home, do you want us to take you to the shop or come to our house?" Hiram wondered as Kurt opened his door.

"No, I'll wait for him. Thanks for the ride and Rach, I love you. Call me tonight?"

"Of course. I love you too, Kurt."

"Uncle Kurt! Where are you going? Why are you not coming with us to our new house?"

Kurt leaned on his open window before answering Zach. "Because Bud, you're going to stay with your grandpas and I'm going to stay with my dad."

"Will I ever see you again?" Zach asked, eyes welled with tears. There hadn't been a day in his life that he has not seen Kurt, this was all new to him.

"Of course Buddy! We are only a couple of blocks away from each other. We will see each other all the time. I'll come over to bring you to your first day in your new school okay?"

"Okay." He smiled. It didn't take much to make his seven year old heart happy.

"See ya soon Bud." He leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before pulling his head out and tapping the roof of the sedan to signal he was ready. This was it. He was going here, no turning back now. Kurt choked back tears as he watched the car drive down the street. He grabbed his bags and went to go sit on the porch swing and wait.

He was going to sit here and wait for his dad without having a drink. He could do this.

He lasted ten minutes before he was ripping through his bag looking for his whiskey. "God DAMNIT Rachel!" He yelled into the cool late summer sky. Rachel may have taken his whiskey, but she didn't find the tequila that he had hidden in one of his boots on the bottom of his bag. She may have known him, but sometimes she forgot that he knew her just as well.

He threw his belongings back in the bag and threw himself of the swing. He opened the bottle and lit a cigarette. The only way he knew how to cope. The only way he knew how not to feel.

X

Burt has been an emotional wreck lately. He was sick with worry. He knew Kurt was in a downward spiral and there was nothing that he could do. His only son was lost in New York and he was here in Lima. It wasn't like he could just go to New York. Kurt was a Hummel and Hummels were as stubborn as an ox. He had to wait for Kurt to come to him and that wait was killing him inside.

It was around two pm on that breezy September day when he decided to call it a day. He shouted out to the men that he was leaving for the day and to make sure they locked up for the night when their shift was over. He needed to get home. He wanted to try and call Kurt again. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually answer this time. It has been a long year since he last heard his son's voice and the memory was fading more and more each day.

Something also felt different about this drive home. Something made him want to drive faster; made him want to get home quicker.

Going slightly faster than he should have been Burt made it home in ten minutes, his heart rate increasing the closer he got to the house. Why did he feel this way? He got his answer as he pulled into the driveway and caught sight of his porch and the slight rock of the swing. The swing he hasn't used since Kurt last came home four years ago.

Kurt.

Burt jumped out of his truck, slamming the door as he ran to the porch. Kurt was passed out on the swing, mostly empty bottle of tequila in his right hand, pack of cigarettes in his left. The sight broke Burt's heart. This is what he had been hiding from him. He quickly unlocked the side door, which lead to the kitchen, and threw his bag in before coming back out for Kurt. He leaned over his boy and brushed the hair out of his face with his the tips of his fingers. Kurt shook with a sigh and it took Burt everything he had in him not to cry.

He took the booze and smokes out of his grasp and put them down on the porch before picking him up and bringing him inside. The last time he held him like that was when he fell asleep watching a movie when he was ten and hand to bring him up to his room. He may have been taller and heavier, but he was still his little boy. His little boy was home.

X

Lima, Ohio.

It was far enough from his hometown of Westerville that people wouldn't recognize him. Blaine doesn't want to be remembered, he wants to be forgotten, he wants to be invisible, he wants to be left alone. So he got on a bus going northwest of Westerville and got off in the small town of Lima.

He stepped off the bus in Lima Center and took in his surroundings. It wasn't too different than where he grew up, the houses were smaller but the grass was just as green, the trees just as tall. He wasn't brave enough to go back to the start, so he improvised. Today was one that would have two eventual outcomes; he would either start over and have a new beginning or fail and have a young ending. Those were his options, some days he didn't know which one he'd prefer.

He slung his duffel and his guitar over one shoulder and lit a cigarette. It's now or never.

He walked away from the bus and began to walk down the street. There had to be something somewhere for him. If not, he would go to the next town over. As long as he wasn't in New York, he was okay with where he ended up.

After about five minutes of walking down Main Street he came across the Lima Inn. '$49.95 per night – inquire within for weekly rates'. That would do. Just one night for now, will check about weekly rates tomorrow. He pushed open the door which rang with a ting. An older woman came out to greet him.

"Hello young man, what can I do you for?" She asked with a sad smile. _Holy shit, is everyone in the world melancholy? _

"I need a room."

"Of course dear. How many people?"

"Just me." He pulled out his wallet looking for his ID and cash.

"How long will you be staying with us for?"

"Just a few days, I'm not one hundred percent sure yet."

"Are you new to the area?"

"You could say that."

"Okay, dear, it will be $105 for two nights, come down and see me if you are going to be here longer." Blaine nodded and gave her the money and the ID. He hoped he didn't have to be here longer, it would start to get really expensive.

The woman gave him the ID and he was instructed to go to room 206. Outside, upstairs and to the left. Before he opened the door she had one last thing to say. "Remember dear, this is a non-smoking hotel, if you want to smoke you can't do it in the room. And please don't litter."

"Of course ma'am." With that Blaine left the office and went to find his room. He needed a shower, badly. Over twenty-four hours on various buses does not smell good.

An hour later Blaine was showered, dressed, shaved, and styled. He could not very well look for a job looking as he had when he arrived. He grabbed his wallet, his phone, his smokes and the key to the room before walking out into the cool sunshine. He walked to the left, down the stairs and, hopefully, towards his future.

X

It was around dinner time when Kurt finally awoke with a blinding pain between his eyes and his mind disoriented. Where was he? This wasn't his couch.

_Oh._

He looked around with squinted eyes and saw pills and a glass of water resting on the coffee table. He, much quicker than he should have, sat up and took them both into his grasp. A sound from behind him startled him as he swallowed the medication.

"Hey son." Kurt refused to make eye contact and pulled his legs to his chest before leaning deeply into the back of the couch.

Burt slowly made his way over and sat down right next to his boy; close enough so that their legs were touching. Burt looked at his only son, the love of his life, his pride and joy. Rachel wasn't lying, but she most definitely did not tell him how poorly he really was. He was in non-fitted jeans and a band t-shirt. He lost at least fifteen pounds and his face was sunken in, he lost all of his sparkle, his flame had long since dwindled out. He sighed when he saw a tear trickle down his son's cheek. There was so much he wanted to say but he didn't know how to say any of it. So he did something that he reserved for his son and his son only. He pulled him closed and hugged him tightly.

"Kurt-" He started, but paused. He had to make sure that his words were perfect. He would never have a chance to redo this moment. "Kurt, I love you son. I'm so glad you're home." He pulled Kurt in tighter has he felt his body start to tremble in his arms. Moments later he heard the broken sobs.

Burt didn't realize it, but this is something that Kurt needed. This is a moment that they will never have to redo. It could be the start of the rest of his life.

Time slipped by as Kurt allowed himself to be held in his father's embrace. Slowly the tears stopped and the hyperventilated breaths slowed. Even when the only evidence of his breakdown were the dried tear tracks on his cheeks he remained there. Safe. He was safe in his father's embrace.

Eventually Kurt pulled himself out of Burt's arms and sat upright. He hesitated before looking up at his father. He was positive there would be a look of judgment written in his eyes, disappointment splayed across his features.

But, when he finally did he was surprised. There was no negativity to read on his father's face. There was nothing but love. He felt the tension in his shoulders relax as he made eye contact with his father for the first time in years.

"D-dad."

But just looked at his boy and smiled. All of a sudden it was like he was looking back nearly twenty years ago when they sat in this same position after Elizabeth's funeral. Twenty-seven year old Kurt looked just as young and just as broken as eight year old Kurt. They weathered that storm together and they would have to do the same again.

"I- I hope it's okay that I came home." Kurt said so softly that Burt's ears almost missed it.

"Bud, you are always welcome home. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too Dad. Y-you're not mad at me?"

"Kurt, there is nothing to be mad about. You are my son and I love you. I will always love you regardless of the situation. Now, it looks like it's been a long day for you. Why don't you go take a shower and I will get us something to eat. We can talk tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay." Burt patted Kurt on the knee before standing up and walking into the kitchen. Kurt watched him walk away before he stood as well and grabbed his bag. Shower. _Yes, a shower sounded amazing._

Kurt walked up the carpeted stairs, still soft and plush underneath his socked feet. Home. On auto pilot he went to his childhood room, second door on the left, right next door to the bathroom. The door got stuck in the humidity and had a loud creak when it was opened six inches. _Home_. He stepped into the bedroom and it was just the way he left it. There were still the post it notes he placed on the items he didn't bring with him. '_Humidity-controlled storage for when I'm famous._' Kurt scoffed at the memory and threw his bag onto the bed. The only difference in his room was that the sheets were different; it was as if his father kept them changed regularly. This is home.

Kurt went through his drawers, just to see if there was anything that he left behind that he forgot about. He needed to do laundry and he really wanted something clean to wear. He was in luck, there were still pajamas and t-shirts in the drawer, left behind because they were slightly too small. He pulled them out and sat them on the bed. His bed. His bed that had an actual headboard. His bed with his expensive mattress that he begged his dad to buy. His bed. Slowly, his mind was starting to wrap around what was actually happening.

When he was a teenager he used the en suite bathroom, but it was most not likely stocked eight years after his departure. He went to the linen closet, grabbed a clean towel and went to use the main hallway bathroom. Across the hall, to the right.

Once in the shower, how sober he actually was began to set in with Kurt. He still was in pain from the tequila and the crying, but he was sober. He started to get anxious. He was alone with his thoughts, he was overwhelmed. He backed up into the wall of the shower before sliding down to a sit.

_In and out. In and out._ He attempted at focusing on his breathing. It helped to take the edge off of the anxiety. After a few minutes he calmed enough to rise to his feet again. He had to get through the shower, he had to get dressed, he had to get downstairs, and he had to get to his bottle. Just a little and it would take the edge off, it would make it okay.

He quickly washed his hair ad body with his father's generic supplies – old Kurt would have cringed, nothing matters right now besides one thing to new Kurt. He stepped out and saw that Burt still had extra toiletries in the same spot, in the basket on the toilet, to the left of the sink. Extra toothbrush. Extra razor. The exact same brands the he used when home. It was like his dad was waiting for him.

He brushed his teeth and ran a hand over week old stubble on his face. His facial hair may not grow quickly enough to give him a five o'clock shadow daily, but he was definitely looking scruffy. He didn't care. Every moment he spent in here was a moment that he was wasting. He had to find his drink. _Just for tonight. Just to make this easier_.

Ten minutes later he was back in his bedroom and dressed. He saw that his father came to turn down the blankets and leave a bottle of water in the room. He walked over to the bedside table on which it rested and saw a note. 'I ordered pizza, make sure that you drink this whole bottle, you will feel better. Love, Dad.'

He quickly chugged down the water and dressed himself in his once too small pajamas. The pajama pants fit him again and, even though he has broadened and gained muscle mass over the years, the shirt was still a little big around the waist. Oh well. At least it's clothes. Kurt could do laundry in the morning.

He shuffled down the stairs. Thirteen not including the landing, the six stair from the top squeaks. He walks over to the couch where he was sleeping and doesn't see his cigarettes.

"Hey Dad, have you seen my cigarettes?"

"I'm sorry, I left them outside kiddo." His dad spoke from the kitchen.

"It's okay, I'm just going to go smoke, I'll be right in."

"Okay Bud."

Kurt couldn't help the feeling of immense relief that washed over him when he saw his more than half empty bottle of tequila sitting right next to his cigarettes on the porch. He sat on the swing and picked both of them up. His lighters was still tucked safely away in the plastic wrap of the pack. He slipped it out and stuck up the flame several times before taking out a cigarette and placing it to his lips. His mind was beginning to go into overdrive again. This situation, here and now, was overwhelming. He lit it and inhaled slowly, letting it out with a sigh.

He paused before opening the cap of the bottle shelf liquor. An overwhelming feeling of disappointment overcame him when the strong stench of the alcohol invaded his senses. Here he was at home, his dad just beyond the door and he was out here ready to attempt to drink away his problems.

Well, there was only one way to make that feeling go away.

He took a swig in between totes and slowly began to rock the swing with his foot. Oddly, he didn't feel the need to finish the bottle though. He only had two more swigs before he finished his cigarette and began is slightly off kilter walk back into the house.

Kurt was been drinking often enough that three slight swigs of the cheap liquor was not enough to get him drunk. He would still be coherent, still be able to function, but his brain would finally shut the fuck up, if only for an hour. He dropped his pack sightlessly into the basket on the counter next to the door. To the right, just out of sight of the window.

Everything was just how he left it. He was home. Home.

He shuffle stepped to the fridge and took out a soda. He knew that now that he was back at the house with his dad that he was going to have to make some changes. Did he accept that fact that he has a problem? Yes. Did he need to change his ways? Of course. Was he ready? He wasn't quite sure.

"Do you want a drink Dad?"

"Can you grab me a Coke?" He shouted from the living room.

Kurt picked up his own and grabbed his dad before heading back into the living room. Pizza and his dad awaited.

Much to Kurt's surprise it was a pleasant dinner. His dad updated him on the shop and his employees antics, Kurt talked about Zachary – being sure to stay away from conversations about his failures in New York and his ex. Burt didn't once mention his drinking nor the fact that, even though he just showered, he smelled like a bar. He didn't comment on his smoking or his weight loss. The entire evening he had a smile wide on his place, grateful is boy was home.

"So Kurt, do you want me to stay home for tomorrow? We can go get you some new clothes and what not?"

"No dad, I don't need you to do any of that." It was in that moment Burt knew how poorly his son was doing. He was offering his credit cards for a day of shopping and he was being declined. Kurt saw the shock in his father's eyes and fought the lump that was forming in his throat. "I mean, maybe in a couple of days. I'm really tired and I don't want you to take any more time off of work than you have to. So, are you still off on Thursdays and Fridays?"

"Never changed."

"Then we will go Thursday."

"Okay Bud."

Kurt really was tired, he was going to head outside once more before turning in for the night. He stood up with his plate and empty can of soda.

"Hey dad?"

"Yea Bud?"

"Thanks for letting me come home."

"This will always be your home Kurt. I love you."

"Love you too dad."

Ten minutes later as he dropped his cigarette butt in the empty soda can he turned into an ash tray and looked out at the night sky. The bottle of tequila sat where he left it, and for the first time in months he let it be.

X

Blaine spent the remainder of the day applying for any job he saw an advertisement for in the window. How exactly he was going to get a job though was beyond him. He has no permanent address. His work history includes singing in subways and rank bars. Not to mention that he was a college drop out. Yea, he had no idea what he was going to do. So, he kept walking.

Around two pm a kind middle aged woman who worked at one of the stores he applied at told him about the community center. There were boards for people to advertise help and rooms wanted and/or needed. They had computers to update resumes. During normal business hours he could also go and they had job specific training for a nominal fee.

Yes, this was definitely something he needed to do. She also recommended that he get a post office box until he could settle into a permanent address, something to add some stability. He thanked the woman profusely before starting the one mile walk to the center.

As soon as he was out of her line of sight he lit a cigarette. He ran is free hand through his hair. He had no clue what he was doing, where he was going. Hell, half the time he didn't even know who he was anymore. All he knew was that, at least today, he had to survive.

It took him about twenty minutes to get to the community center and he was relieved to find the building open. Directly to the right of the door was a large bulletin board covered with papers and flyers. _Thank you nice lady._ He thought as he walked over to it. She wasn't wrong when she said there would be a lot of flyers for apartments and rooms.

He skimmed through them, trying to see if anything caught his eye.

'Room for rent: God fearing family looking…' _No._

'Room for rent: Three female friends looking for a roomie. Must be female or gay…' _Okay, are you serious?_

_'_Single male looking for female…' _These are not personals asshole._

'Room for rent: two musicians looking for roommate for extra bedroom. You will be living with a drummer and a guitarist. Don't like noise don't fucking call. Apartment is 3 bedrooms with shared bathroom. Asking $500 a month including your share of utilities. And don't think I'm buying your food…' _Ha, this is perfect._

Blaine took out his phone and dialed the number on the paper. 419-555-0194. It rang three times before a gruff voice picked up the line.

_"Yea."_

"Uh hi. My name is Blaine and I saw your ad for a roommate. Are you still looking?"

_"Yea, actually you're the first to call. I guess people didn't like my no bullshit ad. So, are you cool with us being musicians?"_

"Yea. I sing and play as well."

_"Hot shit man. We are actually at the apartment now do you want to swing by and take a look?"_

"Yea sure, where is the apartment?"

_"1873 West High Street, second floor. Ring when you get here."_

"Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can."

_"Cool."_ The man replied before he could even ask him what his name was. He put the address in his GPS and was grateful to see that it was only about a ten minute walk away. He thought about the money aspect as he smoked another cigarette on his travels. He could do two months here without having a job before he had no other choice but to find some where to live.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the _ding_ of his GPS notifying him of his arrival. _Nice neighborhood._ He jogged up the stairs and rang the doorbell for the second floor. A minute of two later he was greeted at the door by a sun kissed man with a Mohawk.

"Blaine? I'm Puck."

* * *

**I didn't mean for this to go this long between the update, but like with CK, I was without internet for a little while. This story will probably update every week to two weeks. It takes a lot out of me emotionally to write. It's not going to be a horribly long story, maybe ten chapters in total. I hope you enjoy!**

**Thank you Erin!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone! Here is the next chapter :) It won't always be so heavy. And just a disclaimer: alcoholism is very serious. This is a work of fiction, these struggles are struggles that I have witnessed first hand. Not everyone's story is like this. Not everyone's recovery will be as Kurt's will be. No two people are ever the same.**

* * *

Burt sat in his office staring at his open QuickBooks spread. Why Kurt thought getting this system and leaving him in charge of it when he left for New York was a good idea, he'll never know. It had been seven years and he still struggled with the software. _Maybe now that's he's home he can help me with this._

Kurt was home. His son was home. He told him that he could always come back and even honestly believed he wouldn't. He remembered the tears he shed when his only son left home never planning on looking back. How he wished he could have those tears again. Instead those tears of pride and joy mixed with his sorrow of him leaving at been taken over by tears of fear.

He first noticed the change about six years ago when Zachary was still a baby. Oh how he worried about the two of them and raising a baby in such an unforgiving city. It is a problem he honestly never thought his son would have. He wasn't Zachary's father, but he was as good as. He did everything for that little boy. He helped buy his diapers and watched him while Rachel worked. He stayed up with him at night when Rachel was at her breaking point and he took him to the doctors with her. They both struggled so much to raise him and only accepted the bare minimum of support from Rachel's fathers and himself. It was when he noticed Kurt's fire start to dwindle.

Kurt's calls home became fewer and far between and when he did call he felt as if he was putting on airs so as not to let Burt knew the whole situation. He knew Kurt was not in a good frame of mind and he just wanted to help; he just didn't know how.

About two years ago, after yet another 'you're just not the right fit' from yet another dream job, he began to notice that Kurt was drunk many of the times he called. He told him not to worry, that he was just out having a good time with friends. He's his father, of course he's going to worry.

And then a year ago the lines of communication stopped. Kurt never called Burt and ignored every single one of Burt's calls. The only reason he knew he was alive was because Rachel would call. He knew it was bad, he just didn't know that it was _this_ bad.

Burt saved his spread sheet and pulled up Google. There was nothing that could be done to change the past, but know that Kurt was home, he could try to help him with the future.

_Okay, how does this damn thing work?_ He thought as he stared at the multicolored letters on his screen, becoming mesmerized by the blinking of the cursor, enticing him to think faster.

Using just his index fingers he types in: _My son is an alcoholic._ What popped up, really isn't what he was looking for. He was looking for the right ways to help him and this search brought him to message boards with people throwing their opinions around. Yes, many of these people were walking in his shoes but he didn't want opinion, he wanted _fact._ He wanted to make sure that he didn't do more harm than good, so he thought of something else to search for.

_How to help an alcoholic_.

Okay, maybe this would get him somewhere. He stumbled across a website that gave simple do's and don'ts. This is what he was looking for. Burt Hummel may be intelligent but he is still a simple man. He doesn't want all of the bells, whistles and big red bows. He wants you to spell it out for him in black and white.

He read the words on the screen over and over again, allowing them to fill his mind.

_Don't attempt to punish, threaten, bribe or preach._

_Don't try to be a martyr. Avoid emotional appeals that may only increase the feelings of guilt and the compulsion to drink._ He made special note of this one. His son may be a different person than the man who left home those years ago, but he was still Kurt in there. If any of the Kurt he once knew was alive he knew that doing something like this example would crush him.

_Don't try to cover up or make excuses for the problem drinker or shield them from the consequences of their behavior._

_Don't take over their responsibilities, leaving them with no sense of importance or dignity._ This was something he had to think on. Zachary was the only sense of actual responsibility he had and he is no longer living with him. What is he going to do at home all day?

_Don't hide or dump bottles, or shelter them from situations where alcohol was present._ Burt was glad that he read came across this. He was ready to dump out every ounce of alcohol in the house.

_Don't argue with the person who is impaired._

_Don't try to drink along with the problem drinker._

_Don't feel guilty or responsible for another's behavior._ That last bulletin was going to be the hardest for Burt. Of course he felt both guilt and responsible for Kurt's behavior. Kurt was his son and he failed to do the one thing he promised Elizabeth he would do: protect him.

He continued to read the article which mentioned therapy and support groups. All of those were only successful when the person wanted them too. Kurt had to want to help himself. Burt prayed to a God he hadn't in years that he would.

He printed out the article and put it in his desk drawer. He had a few more minutes before Mr. Moore was scheduled to drop off his truck so he continued to look around online. He came across a link to Alcoholics Anonymous and began to rifle through there pamphlets and information.

He printed about a few of the pamphlets and placed them alongside the article he printed out early, making a mental note to call the community center to see if they knew where he could find an AA meeting locally.

He was just about to close out his window when he heard a knock on his office door. He scrambled to close the open tabs, what he was researching was none of his employees business, and answered. "Yea?"

"Sorry for botherin' ya Burt, but there's a kid here about the help wanted sign."

"Thank you Mark, I'll be right out."

* * *

"So, uh, Blaine, what d'ya think?" Blaine looked around the eleven by 12 foot room and grinned. There was already a bed and a dresser, the door had a lock, and it would be _his_ room. Who would have thought it would have been this easy to find a room here? Nothing had be easy for him in years.

"When can I move in?" Puck shrugged before replying.

"Whenever you want man."

"Well I already paid for two nights at the motel, so how's Tuesday morning?"

"Not a problem man. There's just a few things we need to discuss first." Puck paused and waited for Blaine's confirmation to continue. "Well firstly, no smoking in the house, you can go downstairs on the porch – just get an ashtray or something. Secondly, we don't mind if you have, uh-" Puck chose his words very carefully. "_guests_. We just ask that you be respectful and keep the down. You won't hear us fucking, we don't want to hear you fucking."

Blaine nodded his head. "That sounds fair."

"You pay your first month when you move in and you'll get a key. I'll be home until noon on Tuesday so come over as early as you can."

"Sounds good. But before anything is set in stone, I just want to make sure that there is something about me that isn't a deal breaker."

"What that you're gay?" Puck just looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Blaine sputtered for a moment but Puck seized the moment. "It's cool man. My boy from high school's gay. He's cool people. His dad actually owns the shop across the street. He's cool people too. I'm sure you are too." He concluded his thought process without a moment's hesitation and clapped him on his shoulder. "Come on man, you wan'a beer?"

Blaine just smiled and walked out of the room with Puck, heading towards the kitchen. After a beer and a cigarette – _these dude are cool, I can get with them _– he decided to head out. He wasn't one hundred percent sure where he was going and he didn't want to be lost in the dark. Besides, he had a bottle of Jack and a nice pack of Newports waiting for him in his room. Tonight he was going to just try and get his brain to shut the fuck up for more than five seconds at a time.

Blaine said his goodbye and went to cross the street and head back to the center of town but a sign in the window of the shop caught his eye.

Now Hiring: Administrative Help – Possibility of cross training – Inquire within.

_Ah, what the hell?_ He thought to himself as he walked across the lot to the front door, the shop looked like it would be closing shortly, it is a Sunday after all.

As soon as he opened the door he was greeted by a man, shorter than he was, with not so much as a smile. "Can I help you son?" The thirty-something(?) man asked him gruffly.

"Uh, I saw the sign in the window, I am curious about the position."

"Oh yea, that. Hold on, I'll get the boss."

It took several minutes before he was joined in the room by an older man in blue shop pants and jacket, wearing a baseball cap. "Hey son, why don't you come on in my office?"

Blaine followed the taller man into a small office, minimally decorated, but whose desk is adorned with photos, all facing the other man. Looking at pictures was usually something he did to distract himself from the awkwardness of social situations, and he didn't even have that right now. Shit, he needed a cigarette.

"So…"

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"So Blaine, my name is Burt Hummel and this is my shop, what brings you in today?"

"Well I am going to be moving across the street and I saw your sign in the window."

"Do you have any experience in administrative duties?"

"Not in so many words, but I was in NYU for two and a half years and classes focusing in basic administrative programs were a pre-req."

"So, NYU? What made you come back to Lima?"

"Oh, I just came back. It's a long story." Blaine looked over at the man who could tell was studying him. And, as scary as it was, reading him like a book.

"I understand. Do you have any automotive training?"

"I rebuilt a car with my dad when I was a teenager, and I can change a flat, but that's about it."

Burt chuckled Blaine, and as much as it made him uncomfortable, it felt okay. "So Blaine, I just need some basic information," He started, handing him a clip board and paperwork. "to run a background check. When that comes back I'll give you a call."

"Really? I can have the job?"

"Yea, so long as you pass the background check."

"But you didn't even ask me my work history or-"

"That's what the application is for." Burt replied cutting him off. "Listen kid, I have a feeling about you. My feelings are always right. So, I'm willing to give you a try. I'll give you a call soon."

Blaine quickly scribbled his information on the papers in front of him. When he was done he handed it back to Burt and stood to leave, offering his hand to shake.

Burt accepted his hand with a smile. "And Kiddo," He said to Blaine as he began to walk out of the office. "if you took the room for rent with Puck and Finn… well… have fun with that. They are good kids, but they are most definitely something else."

"Thank you sir. I'll talk to you soon."

Blaine walked out of the office as satisfied as he's been in a while. It seemed like yesterday this would have made him happy.

* * *

Kurt awoke the next morning sore and dazed. He threw his hand to his right, expecting to find his cellphone laid haphazardly on the coffee table; only, there wasn't a coffee table there. His hand fell onto a pile of soft blankets and pillows. _That's right,_ he realized, he was at home. He sat up, ruffled his hair which was a mess from sleep and reached out. To the left, six inches from the bed. There he found his phone fully charged, thanks to his dad no doubt, and slid the lock.

9:39

His father was at work by now leaving Kurt to his own devices. He slid through his notifications. Two texts from Rachel: _hey how was your first night home?_ and _Zach starts school tomorrow, are you going to walk him there with me?_ There was also three missed calls and a text from his former boss: _you're fired._

Kurt shrugged and put down his phone. Right now he needed a cigarette and a cup of coffee, he would call Rachel in a little while.

He stood up stretching and simultaneously scratched his belly before walking into his en suite. His father situated everything for him, just how he liked it. Truth brush holder to the left of the sink, soap dispenser to the right. There were razors and care products in a nice little basket ready for him to situate. He looked to the right and saw a clean towel placed precisely in the center of the rod, a hand towel laid across the center. Just like how he left.

He quickly used the bathroom and brushed his teeth before grabbing his phone and heading down to the kitchen. He spotted the coffee maker, pot full and left on warm. Cabinet directly above the marker, to the right, and second shelf. This is where they kept the mugs. It's amazing after all these years he can miraculously still navigate the house blindly.

_That's because you're home_.

He accepted what the voice in his head was telling him and proceeded to pour his coffee. He added his milk and sugar and grabbed his pack of cigarettes by the kitchen door. He sighed as the door opened and say on the swing.

Something about the swing felt safe. As a boy he and his mother spent long hours rocking, her reading to him while he curled into her side to look at the pictures. During the summer they would rock while sipping lemonade, during the winter, with not chocolate.

Now he sat there, twenty-six years old, sitting here by himself. It was moments such as this, that he really missed and needed his mother.

He felt the familiar, uncomfortable twitch begin in the tips of his fingers. A burn that he could never quite cool. His mind yearned for a drink. He needed to do something, anything, to stop feeling. He couldn't physically it mentally cope with grief right now. He had to make it stop. But he knew he couldn't right now. He only had a few swigs left of his tequila and his dad damn sure wouldn't buy him more.

Instead, he lit another cigarette and took a long gulp of coffee before calling Rachel back.

"Hello?"

"Hey Rach, I got your message."

"How was your first day home?"

"I've been better. You- you were right I think. I don't think he judges me and I know he wants me back, but-". He pauses and takes a drag out of his cigarette.

"But what?"

"But I know he must be disappointed in me and I just can't handle that Rach."

"I'm sure he's not, just worried."

"He doesn't need to worry about me!" He voice began to rise in anger. "YOU don't need to worry about me, no one does." Rachel remained silent and allowed Kurt to rant. This was a common occupancy, especially when Kurt was sober. "I know I'm fucked up. I know I have a fucking problem - but it's mine and mine alone! Please just stop."

"Okay." Was all Rachel replied, she knew better than to argue with him. "So are you coming over tomorrow to walk Zach to school?"

"Yea, of course, I did promise." Kurt always kept his promises to Zach.

"Be here at 8:15."

"Sounds good Rach, but listen I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay hunny. I love you."

"I love you too." He whispers as he disconnected the call. "Fuck!" He yelled into the air; directed at no one, it just being a result of his frustration with everything.

He drug himself back into the house and went to look for something to eat; something light, solely to soothe the ache in his belly. He began to sift through the fridge looking for fruit or something when he saw it - a pack of beer sitting right there just waiting for him.

He abandons his search for food and picks a Coors out of the fridge before closing the door with his hip. He doesn't necessarily like the taste of it, but beggars can't be choosers, he thinks.

Kurt walks back to the living room purely on autopilot and plops himself down on the couch, coffee forgotten in the kitchen.

* * *

When Burt came home that evening he was anxious. He wanted to talk to Kurt about work at the shop again. Some of the websites he browsed mentioned a continued sense of responsibility could help his situation. Now that Zachary wasn't with him anymore he had none. Burt may not know a lot about helping an alcoholic - his only other experience was an alcoholic father, but he was too young to understand. By the time he was old enough to understand the complexity of the situation he was already sober.

He pulled the truck into the driveway and shut of the ignition with a sigh. He attempted to collect his thoughts and stepped out. When he went to unlock the kitchen door it was unlocked. He figured Kurt must have forgotten to lock it when he went out for a cigarette earlier. No big deal, he'll just make sure to remind him to do so.

"Kurt?" He called into the house and received no answer. He heard the sound of the television and walked towards the living room thinking that he must be asleep. But when Kurt wasn't in the living room he started to get worried, especially when he saw the empty beer cans littering the coffee table. He ripped through the house looking everywhere for his son – he was nowhere to be found.

Panicking he pulled out his cell phone and called the one person who might know where he would be. As the phone rang he just repeated a mantra of 'please be there's until he heard a soft voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey Burt."

"Rachel, is Kurt with you?"

"No. I haven't seen him since yesterday. He's supposed to walk Zach to school with me. I talked to him this morning though. What's up?"

"He's not home. Do you know where he could be?"

"Do you have any cash lying around the house?" She asks like it's the most obvious question in the world.

"Yea, grocery money in the cabinet-"

"Above the fridge, to the right of the cereal."

"How did you-"

"If I knew that, he knows that. Burt – it's Sunday so the package stores are closed, but isn't there a bar a couple of blocks over?"

"Shit."

"Go find him."

"Thanks Rachel." He replied before quickly hanging up. He rushed down the stairs to where he put the jar of house money. When he opened the door he noticed that the top of the jar was off, and it looked to be missing a twenty.

"Shit." He muttered to himself as he ran back out to his truck. The sky was still bright with the late summer sun as he pulled out of his driveway and went in route of the nearest bar.

He pulled up to Chaz & Moe's five minutes later. He walked in and it didn't take long to find what he was looking for. He grew up with Chaz and saw him working at the bar.

"Looking for someone Burt?"

"Yea, have you seen Kurt?" He asked worriedly.

"Yea. Came in here a few hours ago, he's sleeping it off in the office. I told him I wouldn't serve him because he was already trashed and he started to throw a fit. Passed out before Pete could send him on his way."

"Oh thank God. Listen Chaz, can I give you my phone number, just in case he comes in here again?"

"Yea." Chaz replied reading Burt's expressions. "Don't worry Burt, I'm not going to say anything to you or anyone else. It's not my place. For what it's worth though, he's lucky he has you as a dad."

Burt nodded at his high school friend and wrong down his number on a napkin. Chaz called over Pete to cover the bar and they walked back to the office where Kurt laid on the couch dead to the world.

Burt effortless picked him up and thanked Chaz again. It was then he realized how skinny Kurt was. He was dealing with alcoholism, yes, but he was skin a bones. Was he eating? The disease called addiction was coursing through his veins, taking everything with it, and it broke Burt's heart.

It wasn't long before Kurt was stripped to his boxers and laid in his bed. Kurt took a moment to take in the sight before him. His skin was modeled with old bruises. They weren't like the bruises he got from the locker slams and dumpster tosses in high school (yes, Burt knew he wasn't an idiot). These bruises are different. It looked like bruises from falling over and walking into things.

When Kurt was younger he looked like an angel when he slept. He slept with a smile, it was an escape from his reality, his own alternate universe where he could live in his dreams. Now, it was a blank slate. There was nothing there besides the occasional unconscious whimper. His son was lost. Burt let a tear roll down his cheek and he tucked his little boy into bed.

He tried to compose himself as he cleaned the living room and hide the grocery money.

Tomorrow they had to talk.

* * *

**PS, I know all of the 'too's in the one paragraph was annoying. Believe me, it hurt me to write. But... it's Puck.**

**Thanks Britt 3 you**

**Next chapter should be up in about a week or two. Remember, this story is heavy and it takes a lot out of me to write. Please let me know what you think!**


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